


All The Hot Teams Are Doing It

by whizzy



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Multi, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whizzy/pseuds/whizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They must have thought John's blank expression was some sort of clever ruse. Mitchell leaned in close and wheedled, "You can tell us... Let's go, off the record. What's the craziest shit you've done offworld?"</p><p>It was probably a toss-up between rescuing bar patrons from Ronon in a drunken brawl, or rescuing McKay from the jealous husband of the buxom blonde he'd tried to hit on. But a minor altercation wasn't going to win a pissing contest with SG-1, so John said airily, "Well, there was that orgy on M4R-984..."</p><p>Mitchell snorted. "What, that's it? No, I'm talking the really weird shit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Hot Teams Are Doing It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Telesilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/gifts).



> This was my fic for the 2009 SGA Secret Santa exchange. My recipient was Telesilla.

Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard couldn't argue with the convenience of having an intergalactic gate bridge to connect Pegasus and the Milky Way.  It meant never running out of critical supplies like popcorn and toilet paper.

He could have done without the "convenience" of delivering his status reports in person, however.  It was too easy for the SGC to yank him home on whim to make him squirm while they picked apart his mission reports and his command decisions; and yes, he'd approved that requisition for 5000 LED lights knowing full well that the scientists were installing a disco floor down on sub-level three.  Community activities were good for morale.

He was waiting in an unused office for his latest bitch-out session to commence when Colonel Mitchell of SG-1 blazed past the door.  Recognizing John, he slammed on the brakes and pulled a one-eighty.

"Hey, Sheppard, you gotta see this."

"I don't know.  If this is anything like that non-lethal immobilizing weapon you demonstrated for me last time..."  A randomly-acquired piece of alien tech, the weapon shot huge gobs of a viscous, mucous-like material that was admittedly effective at incapacitating a target.

Mitchell grinned.  "You mean the spunk-gun?  Oh, man, that thing is _gross_."  And by _gross_ it sounded like he meant _totally awesome._  "No, nothing like that.  Look."  He pulled a bundle out from under his arm and unfurled it.  "It's Jackson's field coat.  Check it out, what do you think?"

Someone -- okay, John probably knew who -- had emblazoned a giant, scarlet letter A on a piece of copier paper and taped it to the back of the coat.  "Um," he said, entirely unsure what to think.

"Get it?  You know, like the book."  When John's expression remained blank, Mitchell complained, "Geeze man, I thought you were into reading hardcore.  Like Russian novels and shit."

"Yes, I've read the book -- and by the way, the letter's supposed to go on the _front_ \-- but without context I'm afraid it's just not... funny."

Colonel Carter must have heard their voices, because she poked her head into the office.  "Colonel, I wanted to ask you about-  Oh, you didn't.  Is that Daniel's coat?"  She stepped inside to admire Mitchell's handiwork.

"Think he'll get it?"

"Of course he will."

"I dunno, Sheppard didn't," Mitchell groused, like John was some sort of philistine.

Carter began to explain, "The capital letter A is the symbol of an adulterer.  See, in Nathaniel Hawthorne's book-"

"I've read the damned book!  But there's one little flaw in your plan.  In order for your prank to make _sense,_ Jackson would have to be _married._"

Mitchell and Carter blinked at each other.

"He is."

"To the rest of SG-1."

No, no, he had to have heard them wrong.

"Well, technically," Carter admitted, "it didn't happen all at once.  I think Daniel ended up married to General O'Neill twice before he was ever married to me."

"But then there was that group thing on P3X-823..."

"Oh yeah, that was great."

Teal'c had somehow discovered their little gathering.  He smoothly entered the fray.  "Indeed it was.  I particularly enjoyed the cleansing ritual we were encouraged to participate in the following morning."

"Look what I made for Daniel," Mitchell showed off his handiwork once more.  "He was offworld with SG-5, investigating some ruins they'd found, and they met up with the locals.  That two-timing hussy got them invited to some kind of spring equinox fertility celebration thing, and bam!"

John wasn't sure what the bam was supposed to represent, because his team had been caught in more than one spring equinox fertility celebration thing, and nothing exciting had ever come of it.  Quite the opposite -- the chanting and endless prayers usually put him to sleep.

"Maybe he just spectated."

"Oh no, I hear he participated.  The whole nine yards -- funny smoke, public nudity, inappropriate touching..."

"What?  So it was like some alien Burning Man thing?"  Damn.  John wasn't familiar with SG-5, but Jackson totally didn't seem the type to get dragged into something like that.

Carter mourned, "I know, can you believe he'd go and do something like that without us?"

"Whoa, now hold on-"

Mitchell slapped John on the shoulder, hard.  "C'mon, you don't have to pretend here, Sheppard.  We know you get into some pretty crazy shit out in Pegasus."  There might have been a touch of envy in his voice.

John protested, "We don't-"

Teal'c did that one eyebrow thing at him.  "We have all read your mission reports, Colonel Sheppard," he said knowingly.

Yeah, so?  John was absolutely certain there wasn't any funny stuff in the reports.  After all, he'd written them himself.  Mostly they ran along the lines of: Made contact with locals, managed to avoid being shot at for once, watched Teyla negotiate to trade medical supplies for root vegetables, came home.  But even Carter was watching him expectantly, waiting for him to spill the steamy details.

They must have thought John's blank expression was some sort of clever ruse.  Mitchell leaned in close and wheedled, "You can tell us...  Let's go, off the record.  What's the craziest shit you've done offworld?"

It was probably a toss-up between rescuing bar patrons from Ronon in a drunken brawl, or rescuing McKay from the jealous husband of the buxom blonde he'd tried to hit on.  But a minor altercation wasn't going to win a pissing contest with SG-1, so John said airily, "Well, there was that orgy on M4R-984..."

Mitchell snorted.  "What, that's it?  No, I'm talking the really weird shit."

No fucking way.  He had to be joking, right?  There was _no way_ SG-1 could believe that John's missions routinely included wacky sexual hijinks with the locals.

Could they?

_Why_ would they?  Unless... they were basing their expectations on their own offworld experiences?  But that would mean...

"You know," Carter said, "Daniel has a theory that the Pegasus galaxy is a lot more uninhibited than the Milky Way."

"The Goa'uld have dominated much of this galaxy, imposing their own mores and traditions," Teal'c explained.

"Yeah, while Pegasus remained wild," Mitchell leered.  "Constantly living under the fear of being wiped out by the Wraith.  Might as well embrace _every_ day as if it was your last day alive.  And party accordingly."

"Daniel's going to be crushed if you disprove his theory," Carter said encouragingly.

"Just a hint?"

Stunned, John shook his head.  Three pairs of eyes were on him, speculating.

"Virginal sacrifices?"

"What?!  No!  There's no way I could stand by and let something like that happen!"

"Neither could we," Mitchell assured in a hurry.  "And let me tell you, those virgins were very grateful for the rescue.  _Very _grateful, if you catch my meaning."

Oh, John was afraid he did.

"Gender change?  Body swapping?"

"Ritualistic piercing?  Bukkake fest?"

Turning red under the scrutiny -- and dear god, but where had Teal'c even learned that word? -- John finally mumbled, "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," and hastily excused himself from the room.

  
~~~~~

  
The worst part was, after they'd put the idea in his head, John couldn't let it go, even after he'd gated back home to Atlantis.

It was the first thing that sprang to his mind when Stackhouse's team returned from a supposedly routine trading mission with suspicious limps and mellow -- sated? -- expressions.

He thought about it while overlooking the plans for Atlantis' latest research outpost, the one on the planet he'd heard the sociologists describe as "like Rio, but friendlier and with less clothing".

The irony of it all hit him when Team Sheppard managed to save their own sacrificial victim from a group of wraith worshippers.  And oh sure, they guy was grateful for the rescue -- as in, he reminded John a bit too much of Jerry Garcia.

But the final straw came when he was reading over Lorne's latest mission report.  John usually neglected those for as long as possible, but he'd heard... rumors, mostly.  Just those little pokes and gibes the boys would give each other in the locker room after a particularly tiresome or embarrassing mission.  Typically accompanied by a good, swift, manly slap on the ass.  So, curious as to what had sparked the aforementioned displays of camaraderie, he began perusing the report the second Lorne set it on his desk.

His eyes caught the words "initiation rite" and suddenly a few things clicked into place, including the way Lorne was trying to edge for the door.  "Hold on, major," he said.  "Don't leave just yet.  I may have a few questions for you when I'm finished perusing this."

"Yes sir," Lorne agreed, creeping back over to John's desk like a condemned man approaching the gallows.  
   
John pointed to the relevant spot on the page.  "This... _initiation rite_..."  And sure enough, his XO flinched.  "What exactly did it entail?"

"Oh, you know.  The usual, sir," Lorne tried hopefully.

"Let's pretend for a moment that I don't.  What is 'the usual'?"

Lorne cleared his throat gently, while the tips of his ears turned pink.  "We were, er, made honorary members of the local village."

Was that all?  John rolled his eyes.  "And I suppose it involved festivities, maybe some mild inebriation...?"

"Oh yes, of course," Lorne admitted easily enough.  "The, er, _interesting_ part was finding out that it's customary among the villagers to share everything with each other."

"Everything?  As in...?"

"_Everything._  Sir."  Lorne shuffled in place and looked like he desperately wished to be elsewhere.

"Sounds very, uh..."  No, charming wasn't the word he wanted.  Quaint?

"Communal?" Lorne suggested.

Yes.  _That._  "Major, judging by the gentle wording of this mission report, am I to assume that you've turned in other reports with similar omissions?"

Lorne suddenly remembered his backbone.  "They aren't omissions, sir.  I believe General O'Neill at the SGC referred to it as the strategic deployment of euphemism.  Sir."

Oh he _did,_ did he?  "So you're telling me that all the gate teams do it?"

Lorne gave John an expression that stated clearly, _Duh.  Don't you?_  "It was determined early on that it would be... expedient to exclude the mention of certain... activities from the official reports.  It's not an official recommendation by any means, more of a... precaution for when the Stargate Program is declassified."

Prior to coming to Atlantis, Lorne had been in a gate team, at the SGC.  It was unsurprising that he'd received the unofficial memo; John was just miffed that no one had ever pulled _the military commander of Atlantis_ aside and handed him a clue.  "So when you mention here that you 'sampled the local goods'..."

"More like the other way around.  It was sort of like being the village bicycle, sir.  Everyone wanted a ride."  The way he said it didn't make it sound like a bad thing.

"And that 'team building exercise' on M4R-375?"

"Group marriage ceremony."

"A first for you guys?" John asked, his voice going a little high and tight.

"No sir.  Third.  Oh hey, that reminds me, our anniversary is coming up soon.  I should do something nice for the team."

_Third?_  How in the hell had Lorne's team managed to get hitched offworld three times, when it hadn't happened to John's team even once?  "Yeah, you... you do that.  So what about the 'cleansing ritual' on M5R-179?"

Lorne sort of shrugged.  "Whatever was in that smoke was really strong.  I remember stripping out of my uniform, and not much after that."

"And _everyone_ does this?"

"Sir, I've read your mission reports too," Lorne bit down on a grin.

"Yes, well..."  John couldn't possibly admit that the last "cleansing ritual" his team had encountered had involved some type of diuretic, and dear god, it was so unfair.  He'd been pissing his brains out, while Lorne had been gallivanting around, naked and high as a kite.  "I suppose... that'll be all, major.  Dismissed."

"Yes sir."

So _monumentally_ unfair.  And the group sex thing?  What the hell?  Mitchell had made it sound like that sort of thing happened to SG-1 _all the time._  Okay, SG-1 was collectively smoking hot, but John's team wasn't exactly homely in comparison.  Hell, they had _Teyla_ and _Ronon_ to balance out McKay!  (Besides, John would so tap Rodney's ass over Daniel Jackson's any day of the week, hands down.)

But that still didn't explain Lorne's team.  Lorne had Parrish dragging their hotness average down!  So how come they were getting the come-hither looks from the nubile farmers' daughters (and sons?), while John's team got to barter for damned tava beans with the village high council, who looked like the Pegasus version of ZZ Top, and smelled of unwashed goat?

There had to be some sort of galactic conspiracy at play, and John was determined to unravel it.

  
~~~~~

  
He didn't find an opportunity to broach the subject with his team until they were already on their next mission.  It was another meet and greet; Teyla didn't know anything about the locals, but the information in the Ancient database was promising...  (All right, ten thousand years out of date, too, but John preferred to dwell on the positive.)

The settlement wasn't far from the gate, and John had chosen to go low-key this time and hoof it in.  That normally would have provided Rodney plenty of time to complain, but John preempted him by asking, "So, does any of this seem unfair to you guys?"

"Does what seem unfair?" Teyla frowned.

"If you're referring to the fact that you're making us walk when we could have flown in comfort, then _yes._"

"No, no, not that.  This whole... thing we do."

"Seek out new allies against the Wraith?" Teyla asked.

"Get shot at," Rodney grumbled.

"Complain," Ronon offered, throwing a smirk in Rodney's direction.

"Well yes, that too."  John tried a different approach.  "Okay, how about this?  Let's pretend, for a minute, that the village we're about to visit turns out to be friendly and accommodating-"

"Oh, like _that's_ ever happened before."

John kicked a clod of dirt in Rodney's direction.  "I said _pretend_.  So imagine that this village gives us the warmest, most hospitable welcome we could hope for.  What, in your opinion, would that entail?"

Of the three, Teyla seemed to be the only one giving his question real thought.  Ronon mostly looked perplexed, while Rodney huffed, "That's easy.  A banquet thrown in our honor, staffed by hot, topless blondes -- oh, and the centerpiece on the table would be made from like a dozen fully-charged ZPMs."

"Is that all?" John drawled.

"No.  Free beer," Ronon suggested.

"Why stop there?" Rodney told him.  "_Unlimited_ free beer."

"Yeah.  That."

Okay, so maybe McKay was partially on the right track with the topless comment.

"I believe this is a good exercise," Telya said finally, in that tone of voice she used when she was imparting advice to idiots.  "The... disproportionate amount of hostile greetings we receive has led us to become extremely wary in dealing with other cultures.  Perhaps our wariness in turn makes our hosts wary and distrustful, causing negotiations to be difficult all around."

John murmured, "A self-fulfilling prophecy."  In a strange way, that almost made sense.

"What's that?"

Rodney explained for Ronon, "It means that we _make_ bad things happen because we expect bad things to happen.  Which is complete and utter crap.  I mean, seriously, if it was true, I would have been killed, like, a thousand times since coming to this galaxy."

"Only reason you haven't been is 'cause you've got us to save yer ass."

"Um, excuse me, hello?  I'm the man who saves the entire city at least once a day, on average.  Before breakfast.  And caffeine!"

John somehow wedged himself between Ronon and Rodney before the situation could turn ugly.  (You'd think it would be the pampered scientist with the penchant for hair-pulling, but oh no.)  "Ladies, that's enough.  The more I think about it, the more I'm certain Teyla has a valid point."  Although she could stand to appear a little less smug about it.  "I mean, just look at us!  We go marching into these cities-"

"Villages," Ronon corrected.

"Hovels," Rodney sniffed.

"-_towns_ with our big bad technology and our even bigger weapons and our gloomy, suspicious attitudes and we ask for trouble.  Hell, that thing Ronon does with a knife when he's bored makes me nervous to be in the same room with him, and he's on _my_ side."  John was pretty sure intimidation had something to do with their lack of sexy-fun-time missions.  Lorne was a good officer, but not a physically imposing guy.  And Parrish, geeze, who could possibly be intimidated by Parrish?

Ronon frowned, "Which thing with the knife?"

"See, you don't even know because there's more than one!"

"So let me get this straight, Sheppard.  You want us to march into this town without all the usual chest-beating and posturing-"

"Yes."

"-and in fact do the opposite by pretending to be bumbling and harmless-"

"It's not pretending in your case, McKay," Ronon smirked, then to prove his point easily dodged when Rodney took a swing at him.

"-basically relinquishing any reason these guys would have to respect us-"

"I do not understand," Teyla said.  "Can we not earn their respect by demonstrating our wisdom, knowledge, and compassion?"

Three pairs of eyes blinked at her for a moment.

"You were saying?" Ronon sighed.

"Yes, well, the point is...  That is, I'm trying to understand what, exactly, Sheppard thinks will happen if we ditch the badass persona and come across as a bunch of-"

"Pussies?" Ronon suggested, doing that thing with his knife.

"I was going to say Sociologists."

John shot Teyla one of those conspiratorial looks, then squeezed up between Ronon and Rodney.  He slung his arms around their shoulders, pulling them in all buddy-buddy like.  "Now, it's sort of a working theory," he confided, "and I'd hate to spoil it, but I can guarantee you'll like it."

  
~~~~~

  
The power of positive thinking thing totally worked.  (Either that or it was the puppy dog eyes, which John had perfected on Elizabeth.)  Either way, they were welcomed into the village with far more enthusiasm than they were accustomed to, with the villagers all crowding around saying things like, "We are very pleased that you are here," as if they actually _meant_ it.

There was also touching like crazy.  John wasn't sure if it counted as inappropriate or not, but everyone seemed to want to touch their biceps and their chests -- though nobody was quite brave enough to feel Teyla up -- and one woman was studying Ronon from all angles as if he was a fine piece of horseflesh she was considering buying at the market.

So after the feast of welcome, and the free beer of welcome, when one of the elders pulled John aside to explain that the villagers had come to him with the request that the Atlanteans join them in the time-honored tradition -- and the poor man had the grace to be embarrassed to say it -- of sowing oats, all John could think was: _We're in, we're so in._

"Oat sowing.  Yes.  That sounds delightful.  I gather it's a... community activity?"

"Oh yes," the elder assured.  "Everyone participates."

"_Everyone?_" John demanded.  Because seriously, some of the elders were a bit past their expiration date, but maybe you got to choose who your sowing partners were.

Sowing.  _Heeee._  He loved those quaint agrarian euphemisms for sex.

The elder considered.  "Well, everyone who is capable.  The activity is... physically demanding."

"If it isn't, you're doing it wrong," John smirked.

The elder began brightly, "Oh, so your people are experienced-"

"Completely and totally experienced.  In fact..." John leaned in close to whisper, "we might just be able to teach your guys -- and gals! -- a thing or two."

"Oh, we would be most appreciative!" the man clapped his hands together in delight.  "So you agree to help us plant our crop?"

Aw, more of those agrarian euphemisms.  John had to try his hand at it.  "Well, you know, there's nothing we enjoy more than a good, hard plowing."  Complete with fist-ramming gesture for emphasis.

"How fortuitous!" the elder exclaimed.  "For we have recently lost our oxen to an illness, and our strongest men have been taking turns at the yoke.  But the planting is still slow.  The season is nearly ended, but with your assistance we may yet finish in time.  And for that we are extremely grateful."

John could literally feel the smile slide off his face.  "Wait.  What?"

  
~~~~~

  
John couldn't even get drunk on the free beer with the rest of his team, because he had to sneak away in the middle of the night to dial the stargate and radio back to Atlantis.

"It's a bit of an emergency," he admitted to Elizabeth, trying to explain the unscheduled check-in.

"How bad is it, John?" she asked, ever the paragon of concern.  "Should we send back-up?"

"Back-up.  Yes.  That.  Marines.  Send lots and lots of Marines."

  
~~~~~

  
All in all, John considered it a lucky escape... right up until he heard the Marines bragging in the locker room about how very _grateful_ the villagers had been for their assistance -- complete with back slapping and high fives and obvious hickies all around.

Still, it proved his theory was sound.  Just a bit more patience, and diligence -- maybe a few less agrarian euphemisms -- and it was totally going to pay out big time.

  
~~~~~

  
John thought that M4X-294 might be the place where he would get lucky.  After all, the village headman had said that Sheppard's team counted as honored guests, and that his wives -- wives, plural! -- had been instructed to service them.

Except... it turned out the word was serve, not service.  As in, serve John's team supper at the banquet table.  And damn it, someone should have warned him that there was some crazy backwater Pegasus version of the lapdance rule in play -- apparently touching of the guests was permitted, but reciprocation was _not_ \--  because one teensy weensy cultural misunderstanding later, John found himself pelting for the stargate with half the village guard hot on his heels.

"At least they only have pointy sticks," Ronon observed, firing his stunner carelessly behind them without bothering to aim.

"Easy for you to say!"  Not surprisingly, Rodney had managed to hang on to one of those delicious savory meat pies, and was eating as he ran.  "You've never been shot in the ass by Robin Hood and his merry band of alien miscreants."

Ronon allowed, "Yeah, that was pretty funny."

"Guys, a little less yapping, a little more hustle?" John suggested as a spear hurtled past his shoulder.  Only Teyla was silent, but her concentration wasn't for her feet.  She kept shooting John these thoughtful, appraising looks that were far more troubling than six large, hirsute guards and an angry husband combined.

  
~~~~~

  
On M2R-471, John was sure his luck had changed.  The Council of Clerics were adamant that his team would need to undergo a "purification ritual" before they would be allowed to inspect the sacred temple grounds -- the very same sacred temple Rodney was certain was Ancient, and was giving off tantalizing energy readings.

Now, purification rituals were a dangerous mixed bag, ranging from leaping through fire while anointed with pigeon blood -- poor Zelenka had been in the infirmary for days, recovering from the shock -- to prolonged fasting and enemas.  (Everyone was fairly certain that that's what had happened to Maddox's team on M3X-231, even though they'd purportedly signed a contract to carry the secret with them to the grave.)  But John wasn't getting a totally creepy-ass vibe from the locals.  In fact, they seemed downright civilized -- decent level of technology, logical system of government, nary a religious whackjob in sight. 

So he agreed to the ritual, much to Rodney's dismay.

"You know, Colonel, the building was only appropriated for use as a temple.  It was probably an Ancient meteorological station or something.  We're not going to be struck down if we bow out of the ritual nonsense and find a way to sneak inside."

"Rodney, just trust me on this one, please?"  There was a lot of seismic activity in the area, with the scent of sulphur heavy in the air.  Put that together with the mention one of the clerics had made about the cleansing properties of the local hot springs, and John was guessing that his team was about to find themselves in some pretty hot water.

"I suppose," Rodney frowned.  "It's just that these rituals usually involve so much _chanting_."

Teyla suggested, "You could try to do as I do, Rodney."

"What?  You've got to be kidding me!  You pay attention to all that nonsense!"

"You could do what I do," Ronon said.

"But... don't you pay attention too?  I've watched you.  You sit there looking all polite and attentive and I have no idea how you manage it for hours on end."

"Dumbass.  That's not paying attention.  That's sleeping with my eyes open."

"Oh.  I, er, don't supposed you'd be willing to tell me how you achieve that nifty little trick?"

That's when their guide broke away from the cluster of temple officials and returned to inform them, "Preparations are complete.  If you would follow me please, I will lead you to the pools where the ceremony is to take place."

"Pools.  Yes.  Excellent.  I've always been a firm believer in the cleansing properties of water," John said smoothly.  "These wouldn't happen to be naturally occurring pools of heated, therapeutic water that rise up from the ground, would they?"

"Why yes," their guide seemed pleased.  "Have you encountered such a thing before?"

"Oh yes, we have them on my world."  Hell, John had even been stationed in Okinawa for a while.  "I've, er, enjoyed their relaxing properties before."

"Wonderful!"  The guide ushered them through a stone doorway, and into what was basically an outdoor bathhouse, screened off from the rest of the city, but open to the sky.  The pool was tiled, a long, welcoming shimmer that breathed steam into the air.  It was also completely and utterly empty, its surface serene and mirror-smooth.

Rodney's eyes just about bugged out of his head.

"We get it all to ourselves?" Ronon asked, and even he was staring at the water with longing.

"Yes, for the ceremony," their guide said.  "Colonel Sheppard, as you are familiar with the cleansing pools, you may proceed while I instruct the others."

There was a little platform that looked like a changing area, complete with hooks for clothes and a shelf for shoes.  John hopped on up, toeing off his boots.

"Instruct us?  I think we can figure it out.  It's a giant hot tub.  We get in, we get hot- er, clean, and we get out."

"I think you're forgetting something, Rodney," John smirked, unfastening his belt.  He popped the buttons on his fly one-handed while he gestured with the other.  "Can't exactly hop in wearing all your gear."

Their guide reached for what John had assumed were towels, all stacked up neatly at the other end of the changing platform.  He shook it out and held up what looked like the hippie equivalent of a Victorian bathing suit, only baggier and more modest.  "Of course not.  This is why traditional chond'rias will be provided for you.  In a moment I will draw the privacy curtain, and you may take turns changing-"

That was about when John's pants hit the ground.

Okay, in his enthusiasm, he might have been zoning the guy out a little.  He was in the process of shucking his shirt when the guy saw what he was doing and belted out an effeminate shriek, flailing to block out the indecent scenery from his sight.

Come to think, Ronon and Rodney and Teyla were all sort of gaping at him, too.  John finished yanking the shirt over his head, and rubbed a hand through his hair to more or less put it back into its artful disarray.  "Right.  Did he just, ah, say something about a privacy curtain?"

Teyla was assisting their guide, who was now wearing the chond'ria on his head and staggering about as if drunk.

Rodney bit his lip.

Ronon pointed to the slot in the wall where the curtain was stored while not in use.

"Thank you.  And also, what the hell are you all staring at, anyway?  's not like you don't see it every day in the showers."

"I do not, John," Teyla reminded him as she led their guide away to a low bench.  At John's words, the man let out a low moan.

"Well, you heard the guy.  Let's get naked... and then get dressed again," John sighed.

  
~~~~~

  
Eventually, after being given a strict sermon equating modesty with sanctity, John and his team -- funny bathing suits in place -- were allowed to enter the pool.

Of course, they were required to sit at the four cardinal points, so that there was absolutely no risk that inappropriate touching might occur.  And accustomed as he was to hot springs, John was surprised to discover the water tepid at best.  It would have been quite pleasant on a warm day, but a warm day this was not.  In fact, if they were required to stay in much longer, John was afraid that his teeth might start chattering.  Rodney's lips were already turning blue, and even Teyla was losing her grip on her serenity.

Then the chanting began.

  
~~~~~

  
Yeah, John thought it might be in his best interests to avoid his team for a while after that mission.  Thankfully, he had an excuse.  He was reviewing planetary designations in the Ancient database, trying to find a correlation between some of the Ancient warnings and planets where teams -- but not John's team, oh no, never them -- _other_ teams had encountered sexy-fun times.

The Ancients had loved to categorize things.  John was sure they'd had some equivalent to designating a planet _MA:  for mature audiences only._  He just had to decipher all the gibberish in the database and figure it out.  Then, he was totally going to make sure _his_ team got assigned the naughty planets, even if he had to shift around the duty roster for the next four months to do it.

  
~~~~~

  
It turned out that the Ancient phrase which translated loosely to "not for the faint of heart" literally meant "this planet is populated entirely by cockroaches the size of chihuahuas". 

Meanwhile, John had to grind his teeth and watch Bronson's team limp back, grinning and smug, from the planet John's team was _supposed_ to have visited.  John had made them trade at the last minute.  And now Bronson was carving another notch into the metaphorical bed post-  Well, it wasn't so much metaphorical as they used a door jamb in the locker room, and how in the hell had John never realized what those marks meant before?  There were dozens.  -while John was twitching at shadows and clutching a bottle of Rodney's homemade insecticide.

It wasn't fair.  It wasn't fair, and all his attempts to _make_ it fair had only served to make it _worse, _and he totally gave up.

Pegasus could go fuck itself, because it sure didn't seem at all interested in his ass.

  
~~~~~

  
His team found him sulking in his room, not unlike a moody teenage girl.

"Oh my god," Rodney said, pushing his way through the door first, "I didn't realize the need for an intervention was so desperate.  Are you really sitting in the dark listening to Morrissey?"

John let the lights come up a little bit more, because the last thing he wanted to admit was that they generally matched themselves to his mood.  "No.  Maybe.  Wasn't that door locked?"

"Morrissey.  Isn't he the guy who prevented Barbara Streisand from taking over your planet?" Ronon asked.

Rodney and John both rounded on him at the same time.  "What?  No!"

"The Marines have got you watching South Park again, haven't they?" John groaned.  "I _told_ them-  Okay, who was it?"

Ronon shrugged, clearly unwilling to name his supplier and cut off his flow.

Teyla swished her way over and sat next to John on his bed.  His teeny, tiny, minuscule little bed.  (The Ancients must've had such inadequacy issues to carry it over to their furniture.)  She raised her hand, looking for a place to settle it, and she had the option to pick John's thigh, which was _right there, _but of course being Teyla she curled it into a gentle fist and rested it in her lap.  "Enough about Ronon.  We are concerned for you, John.  You have not been acting as yourself."

"Yeah," Rodney spoke up, "what the hell's the matter with you lately?  Missions are hard enough without you volunteering us for all kinds of weird stuff.  When the aliens ask you to do crazy shit, you're allowed to say no, you know."

"Rodney," Teyla chided.  "I thought we'd decided to approach this issue in a more diplomatic manner."

Rodney pointed at John.  "He's military!  Diplomacy's wasted on him!"

John scooted away, far enough that he could catch Teyla in the same unhappy glare with Rodney and Ronon.  "You've all been talking about me behind my back?"

"What are you going to do about it, break up with us?" Rodney challenged.

Right, like that was even _possible._  Besides, his team was totally awesome and hot and he wasn't trying to get rid of them; quite the opposite, in fact.  He shook his head.  "No.  It's-  It's nothing."

Teyla chased after him, shifting down the length of the bed.  He might have escaped too, if Ronon hadn't plopped down on his opposite side, preventing further retreat.  "I do not believe it is, as you say, nothing.  We are here for you.  Whatever troubles you, remember that burden's weight is reduced for each additional person who shoulders it."

"Actually that's not true," Rodney pointed out.  "The total weight remains the same.  It's each individual percentage that-"

"Yeah, what she said," Ronon cut in, then glared meaningfully at McKay.

Sighing, Rodney dropped down on the other side of Teyla.  "Yeah, it's like they say.  So spit it out, dumbass.  I'm wasting time here that I could be using to chastise minions."

John hesitated.  "I just-  There was something I wanted to do.  With you all.  Or for you, I'm not sure.  But that's not true either, because it's really more of a selfish desire, and I-  Anyway, it doesn't matter, because the issue I am- _was_ trying to change doesn't even seem to bother you guys, and everything that I did only made it worse."

 "Oh I'm sure you dropped your pants in front of that horrified cleric on the planet of endless, boring chanting for our benefit," Rodney snorted.

"I dunno.  That dude was was way more entertaining after he started screaming," Ronon said.

"Point."

"The point is..."  Again, Teyla did that thing where she looked like she wanted to do something else, but settled for a nice, neutral gesture.  "We appreciate whatever it was you were trying to do for us-"

"Hey, could he be any more vague?"

"-but without adequate... information concerning your motives, your actions were simply confusing and frustrating to us.  We could have helped you, John, if only we'd had any idea how."

She was sincere.  Even McKay and Ronon were regarding him with a sort of quiet speculation, like they were both wondering what excuse he was going to muster up this time.  "I tried to tell you.  I did.  It just came out wrong."  Like everything else.

"You could try again, now," Teyla suggested.

"Oh sure, I could, but like I'd ever want to tell my team that I've been trying to drag them into some crazy alien sex ritual because it seems to happen all the time to all the other teams, and I can't understand what they have that we don't -- I mean hello, _Parrish?_ \-- so it hardly seems fair that-  Er... wait.  Erase everything I just said."

"Oh no, no no no," Rodney waved his hand.  "There are no take-backs."

Ronon asked, "So what he's trying to say is, he's offended on our behalf because we aren't getting as much action in the field as some teams?"

"If by 'as much' you mean 'any'," Rodney grumbled.

Teyla squinted at John for a long moment, then deliberately settled her hand right on his thigh.  High, high up... oh yeah, that wasn't a friendly gesture.  Or maybe it was _too_ friendly.  "Yes, I do believe that is what he is saying."

"I don't get it.  He turned down all those chances."

"I _what?_" John demanded.

"Was it not deliberate?" Teyla asked cautiously.  "There were many opportunities we might have had to become... better acquainted with our hosts offworld, but after watching you... politely yet firmly decline them for so long, Ronon and I assumed that you Earthlings were..."

"Prudes."

"Hey!" Rodney complained, "Canadian here!  Don't lump me in with Sheppard!"

"...less open to such things," Teyla decided at last.  "We took it upon ourselves to gently dissuade our hosts from making such offers, or steering you to select worlds to explore where it would not be an issue, so that you would not have to invent excuses for yourself."

Okay, so maybe John had been a tad... oblivious to the possibilities.  That was all over now.  "Hold on a damned minute.  Are you telling me that the reason we haven't been having any fun is that you've been actively discouraging it?"

Ronon mused, "I dunno, watching you run away from that pissed-off husband was pretty fun."

"I can't believe you guys have been working counterproductive to my efforts!"

Rodney threw up his hands.  "Whoa, don't throw me in with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum.  I had no idea they were sabotaging our chances to get laid!"

"We would not have worked at odds if you had said something, John," Teyla soothed.

"Yeah, well... I'm saying something now," he sulked, and hey, did her hand just shift?  That was definitely a yes, because there it went again!  Any higher and it was going to have to introduce itself.

"And we are listening," Teyla assured, "because we are a team and that is what we do for each other."

"Okay, yeah, whatever," Rodney snapped his fingers a few times.  "Enough of the feel-good crap.  If there's not going to be sex, I'm totally out of here.  Minions, remember?"

"Have to practice sometime," Ronon reasoned.  "Wouldn't want our first time to be in front of an audience, and screw up because of nerves or something."

Teyla's smile said "possibly", but her hand said "yes, yes definitely".

"Oh," Rodney brightened.  "Well in that case..."  He squirmed around behind them on the impossibly tiny and narrow bed that was never in ten thousand years intended to hold four people, and sort of got his arms around John in a fashion that John didn't realize was meant to immobilize him, until Teyla attacked one half of him and Ronon the other, and inside of five seconds he was somehow flat on his back and naked.

They totally had to teach him that trick.

Then Rodney was demonstrating for Ronon, "No, see these adjustment tabs on the side of the BDUs?  Sheppard has so little in the way of hips that I bet we could pop them open and forget the fly and the pants would fall right off of him," on himself, while Teyla looked on in interest.  Then she showed Rodney that the easiest way to defeat the laces on Ronon's vest involved a knife, and every time John tried to get up to join the fun, someone casually pressed him back down and told him to stay put.

John wasn't very good at obeying orders.  They knew that.

When Rodney lost his clothes, he managed to ditch his pants and underwear in one stealthy motion, and John had to prop himself up on an elbow to tease, "Hey McKay, didn't want anyone to see that you still wear Aquaman underoos?"

So of course Rodney scoffed, "Um, _no,_ I went commando today, genius," which John admitted was a killer comeback.

John still wasn't allowed to help when Teyla requested completely unnecessary assistance with her bra; but Ronon and Rodney were there to catch the bounty that spilled forth.  Rodney kneaded one lush, perfect breast with his oh so clever fingers while he dipped into the front of her pants with his other hand, while Ronon teased the other nipple to stiff attention with his tongue.

Impatient and hard and more than a little shocked that he was going to get to do the "team bonding" thing with no alien blackmail required, John whined, "Okay, that is totally not fair," and tried to get up, but the three broke apart and were on him again in a flash, each pinning down a different part of his body.

And oh hey, there was no way the microscopic bed was going to take this sort of abuse, and he told them as much, but Ronon just rolled his eyes and pointed out, "If we break it you can requisition a larger one," which was a worthy goal even if John didn't know how he was going to explain what had happened.

Well, apart from absolutely avoiding the truth, that was.

There was still the odd bit of clothing here and there -- a sock, Ronon's wrist bands -- but John didn't mind because all of the goods were on display, and it turned out that Ronon was impressively hung in an uncut, European sort of way; and naturally Teyla didn't shave but he decided he sort of liked that; and Rodney was endowed with girth to make a size-queen weep.  (Not that John would know anything about-  Okay, that was a lie, a huge, huge lie.)

And they wouldn't let him _touch_.

But that was fine, because they were doing a pretty damned efficient job of working him over.  Rodney claimed his mouth, tongue thrusting deep and dirty, while someone -- Ronon, probably, unless Teyla had recently grown a beard -- was mouthing their way up the inside of his thigh, nosing his balls aside to lave the sensitive skin behind them.

Then Teyla got a knee up on the bed to continue pinning his arm, but she leaned somehow, spread out over him, and caught his cock in her cleavage, squeezing and pressing her breasts together to prevent him from thrusting no matter how badly he wanted to.  From the other side of the bed, Rodney leaned down to catch her mouth, while slipped up behind her and slid his fingers up inside her, teasing her until she was shuddering and moaning against Rodney.  And John was having serious thoughts about retiring his team from the saving the galaxy gig to get rich shooting their own porn, because _damn._

John eventually managed to worm a hand free, but only because Rodney was distracted trying to crawl on top of him, riding John like he was one of those coin-op mechanical horses, and that probably contributed to the bed finally breaking.  But Ronon was there to break his fall, and he caught Rodney, who provided a soft landing spot for Teyla; John already knew teammates did that kind of thing for each other, but he was hoping their repertoire could expand to include friendly, frequent blow jobs. 

They were all down in a tangle of limbs, and someone was laughing so hard they were snorting -- he really hoped it wasn't him, but he got the feeling it probably was -- but John didn't care because he touch everything he could reach, now.   The folds between Teyla's legs were so wet and silky, and he discovered that he could fit his mouth around more than just the tip of Rodney's cock if he strained his jaw a little, and it was sorta hard to concentrate on that thing Ronon was doing with his tongue because his beard was tickling the hell out of John's stomach.

John was squirming and panting, crazed with need.  Then Rodney let out a delicious low moan just as Teyla clipped his shoulder with her teeth, and Ronon shifted _just so, _and John was coming his brains out.  Seriously, most amazing orgasm ever.

But the best part?  He wasn't going to have to write it up in a carefully worded mission report.


End file.
